And They Were Roommates(7)

Jasper doesn’t snore, but he does read. Loudly. Deep into the night, he leaned against his headboard, reading a book thicker than my head. Each page turn crinkled. His lamp buzzed. And, of course, he just had to vocally react to every stanza. Oh, wow. My goodness. Unbelievable. What could be that interesting? Ten bucks it was his own poetry.

I glance at Jasper’s made bed, which has a whopping eleven extra throw pillows and a decorative patchwork quilt patterned with knit ambrosia flowers. The posters of himself still hang from the ceiling. All that’s missing is the real Jasper.

He was gone by the time the bell tower woke me up, which allowed me to dig through my suitcase to ensure nothing could identify me as somebody he used to know. I ripped up my favorite photo of me and Delilah posing in front of Au Sable Forks Lake as campers.

Maybe Jasper is sneaking off to the sister academy to see his girlfriends. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s had more than one.

I glare at my schedule again. PE is a mistake like my single room. I’ll fix this before I even reach class.



* * *



“All men, rise!”

That’s the first thing I hear while stumbling onto the Pragma Recreational Center field, sweaty and gross and dying for a sports drink. Of course, even after a thirty-minute hunt, I couldn’t find Maverick the Residential Retainer in his room nor in the communal lobby space. The five gravel paths that sprout out of the courtyard like appendages turned me into a rat in a torture maze for thirty more, trying to find this center. The limited signposts did not help. I check my watch. Ten minutes late. The way an Excellence Scholar should not act.

At least there’s no Jasper. Just a plot of grass so freshly cut that I smell it in the air, surrounded by oak and maple trees, perfectly and evenly planted around the perimeter. An instructor in a red Valentine-crested tracksuit stands before lines of students. They vary widely in height, facial hair, and bulk, ranging from pre-to post-puberty. A multiyear class. They all wear the same tracksuit as the instructor.

I pluck at my tie. There’s a separate uniform?

The instructor starts explaining the locker room rules, flipping through her clipboard paperwork. A chance to join the crowd undetected. I claim a spot in the back row, behind someone a whole head taller whose tracksuit can barely stretch around his bulging biceps. A shield until I can figure out my schedule.

“Banks got a detention,” the human shield whispers to a guy beside him.

“For what?” the other asks.

“Out past lights-out. By three minutes.”

“That’s nothing compared to Richards. I heard he’s getting expelled.”

“Seriously? How? It’s only been a day.”

“Told his roommate he was planning a party in their room, and he snitched.”

Detention over three minutes. Expelled over a plan. I signed up for this life, but my stomach still twists.

At least I found some reliable informants. “Hey,” I say, tugging the tracksuit hem of the human shield. He turns. I instinctively step back to maintain enough space and lower my face. “I think my residential … re…” What was that called? “Retainer. He gave me the wrong schedule.”

His towering body leans over mine to read my schedule, shattering that space within seconds, and I go rigid. When I told Delilah I was confident enough in my appearance at orientation, I meant from a distance. Every student shoving their nose into my business wasn’t on my bingo card. He points at the top of the page. “Here’s the name and student ID. You Charlie?”

“Yeah.”

“Then this one’s yours.”

“But I didn’t sign up for PE,” I say, trying to deepen my voice to deflect his closeness.

“Every grade level is required to. You new here, bro?”

“Um, a bit. They make us?”

“’Cause Valentine doesn’t offer sports. They gotta make sure everyone keeps up with their fitness. You get it.”

I do not.

Defeat hits me hard. This really might be my schedule.

“Does everyone remember what first-day fitness testing is?” the instructor shouts with so much vigor that her dark brown braids wrapped in bows bop against her tan cheeks.

A resounding Yes, Ms. Nallos floods the field.

“To recap, you’ll be paired up. Every minute, you’ll rotate to different stations around the field. Signs will tell you what exercise to test each other with.”

I scan the outdoor exercise equipment. A few signs taped to orange cones are marked with PULL-UPS and PUSH-UPS.

Today?

“Halfway through the term, we’ll check again for improvements. Questions?” Ms. Nallos’s sneakers crunch against the tended-to grass as she meanders between rows to check.

The moment she locks eyes with my tracksuit-less body, it’s over.

She walks up, studying my outfit. “You’re quite overdressed.”

I obscure my hands into fists and lower my chin so my curls shroud more of me. “I didn’t realize PE was on my schedule, so I didn’t buy the tracksuit set. Is this class really required for every student?”

“It is.”

“Ms. Nallos, I didn’t sign up for PE either,” a nasally voice whines one row over. Some white guy with a foot for a face, his chin overpronounced and bedhead sticking up in chunks.